


lay down your sword and me

by hoosierbitch



Category: White Collar
Genre: Anal Sex, Gunplay, Kink, M/M, Porn, Rough Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-18
Updated: 2010-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tense case, Neal needs to know that Peter's okay. Somehow to me that equaled gun!kink. :-/</p>
            </blockquote>





	lay down your sword and me

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/collarkink/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/collarkink/)**collarkink** . Special shout-out to the anon prompter, you are awesome, I'm glad you like your fic!

Their latest job ends with Peter locked in a stand-off at gunpoint for nearly fifteen minutes with an unexpectedly violent scam artist. After a lot of yelling, threatening, and negotiating the SWAT teams finally arrive and take over. Neal, who had to stand off to the side and watch the entire disastrous incident play out in front of him without being able to do a thing, is desperate with worry and shaky with the comedown of his adrenaline rush by the time they get back to the FBI building.

Peter takes one look at his wide eyes and fake smile and pulls him into an old locker room. He waits patiently while Neal checks him over, running nervous hands over Peter's chest, his arms, his back. Making sure Peter isn't secretly hiding any gaping flesh wounds.

"I was so worried," Neal tells him. "I thought he was going to shoot you, I thought that was going to be it - God, Peter, do you have any idea what that feels like?"

Peter just kisses him and pulls him into a tight hug. He takes a moment to breathe in the scent of Neal's cologne, to let Neal hold him back just as tightly. "I want you to fuck me, Peter. Will you fuck me? Please?" Peter groans against Neal's neck. Neal squeezes his ass, rocking them together. Peter's hard already, but he can tell Neal's not, not yet. "Need to feel you, I need you." Neal grabs Peter's shoulder holster and uses it to spin him around, slamming Peter up against the wall. "You up for it?"

"Are you sure?" Peter asks.

Neal backs away from him with a predatory smirk and starts to strip. He pulls a bottle of lotion from his pocket (lotion that he'd grabbed from Cruz's desk, Peter recognizes the label) and tells Peter to stop asking stupid questions and lock the door. When Peter gets back Neal's reclining on the floor like something out of a Roman mural, completely naked and fingering himself roughly. The tile under Peter's knees is cold, but Neal feels scorching hot. He pushes a finger in alongside two of Neal's. He takes the condom out of his wallet and throws his jacket off to the side, reaching up to unfasten his holster.

"No - leave it on," Neal insists, unbuttoning his shirt for him while Peter continues to work him open, his fingers shaky as Peter spreads his fingers wide. "Just like this," he says, as he works the shirt out from underneath the leather straps, grabbing hold of the gun to pull Peter in for a kiss. "And don't use the condom. I want you to save it." Peter drips some more of the lotion onto his cock (we're both going to smell like a flower garden, he thinks, Elizabeth is going to laugh - ) and works his way inside in one hard thrust that makes Neal dig his fingernails into Peter's shoulders with surprise.

"You're collecting condoms now?" Peter asks, balls-deep in Neal's tight channel. "Are you creating some horrible modern art sculpture I should know about?"

"No," Neal laughs, still only half hard, his arms wrapped tight around Peter, fingers drawing secret pictures on Peter's shoulders. "After you come I'm going to put that condom on your gun and you're going to fuck me with it - " he loses his voice as Peter tilts his ass up and takes him, hard, leaving red marks in the shape of his fingers on each of Neal's hips.

He shuffles up onto his knees to support Neal's weight on his thighs and then uses his hands to pinch and twist Neal's nipples until his breath hitches with discomfort when Peter licks at them. Neal takes the gun out of its holster and wraps Peter's right hand around it. Under Neal's guidance he traces it slowly down the planes of Neal's chest, scratches it against his nipples, then uses it to press Neal's chin upwards to that he can bite at the impossible bend of his bared throat.

He leaves the gun pressed right there, forcing Neal's head to tilt all the way back to the floor, and fucks in. When Neal swallows he can see his Adam's Apple move underneath the end of the barrel. He looks down the line of cold grey metal to Neal's wrecked, beautiful face, and then to the grip where Neal's elegant hand is wrapped around his own. He can feel the rumble of Neal's pained moan as he bites down on his shoulder and shakes through his orgasm, feels the way Neal's whole body opens to welcome him when he comes.

Neal rocks himself lazily while Peter softens inside him, his own hard cock resting on his stomach, a pool of precum dripping onto his pale skin. Peter pulls out so that he can lean over and lick it up, lick up the length of Neal's cock and taste him.

"Oh, Jesus. Wait - I don't want to come yet. Not yet - Peter, please?"

Peter smiles down at him and hands over the condom. "Okay," he says. "Show me what you got."

"Stand up," Neal orders him and Peter complies even though his knees still feel weak.

Neal takes the condom, rips the wrapper open, and, with a wicked smile, puts it in his mouth. He gets onto his knees in front of him and Peter moans at the sight. Shakily he holds his gun up to Neal's sweet pink lips and slowly pushes the barrel into Neal's mouth, watching as Neal wraps the condom around the shaft with his careful teeth, his tongue, sheathing the sharp metal and warming it. His mouth is a perfect "O" around Peter's gun. He can hear Neal sucking on it as though it really was Peter's cock, teasing it and then swallowing around it as Peter eases it just that little bit further in.

When he pulls it out the ribbed latex is wrapped tight around his gun. "Fuck," he breathes, and Neal gives him a little smirk while licking his lips.

"I thought you'd like that." He stands up and leans against the wall.

"You've got to turn around," Peter tells him.

"No," Neal disagrees, pulling Peter close. "You forget," he says. "I happen to be a world-renowned thief. Flexibility is part of the job description." He lifts up his right leg and holds onto it, his left hand digging into the shoulder holster for leverage. Peter leans in to take some of the weight of his leg from him, bending over the slightest bit to put the barrel of the gun at Neal's hole.

"Can't believe you're doing this for me," he said. "Holding yourself open while I fuck you. It's going to hurt."

"Well, I have no problem believing that you are doing this for me," Neal says with a groan while Peter traces the edges of his hole, Peter's cum sliding out of him and down the gun's shaft. "All you law enforcement types are just one kinky fuck away from being full-fledged gun fetishists. Ah - "

Peter breaches him slowly. It does hurt him, a little, the metal not yeilding or bending like Peter's cock had inside the contours of his body. But it's such a strong sensation, as if all of his nerves had been rewired to his ass and the place on his neck where he can feel Peter breathe and his thigh where Peter's fingers are drawing bruises and finally into the unfamiliar place in his chest that had shattered when he saw the gun pointed at Peter and was slowly being put back together.

"It's loaded," Peter whispers against the ridge of Neal's ear. He clenches down as Peter pushes in another inch, a sharp whine escaping past his clenched teeth. "Tell me how it feels."

"Feels - feels so good. Can't describe it - "

"Try," Peter growls, and Neal had never pretended to be unaffected by Peter when he gets angry.

"It's too big," he admits, "like it's pulling me open. But I know that it's going in because--because I'm wet already with your cum, Peter, because you fucked me so good, so hard - "

Peter starts pulling out and Neal keens at the loss, a sharp wild sound. He curls forward against the sensation only to jolt back when Peter presses back in with a twist. "I love watching you," Peter tells him as Neal's head drops back, mouth open, and lets out a loud moan. "Knowing you want me so bad that you're taking my gun inside of you. Knowing how worried you were. How hungry you are now." He pushes the gun in until the trigger guard rubs up against Neal's perineum. Neal spits out a startled grunt at the unexpected pressure. "Keep talking."

"Can't - Peter - " Because of the position they're in Neal can't get any friction against his cock. It bobs between them, precum drooling out with every twist of the gun. Peter's cock is quickly returning to full hardness. He readjusts his hold and starts to move the gun around inside Neal's ass. "Jesus! Unh - " Neal's reduced to moans, again, but hunches forward abruptly, leaning his forehead against Peter's chin. "Found my prostate, you sadistic fucker. Oh, God, right there - right there, Peter, harder - "

He pushes Neal to lean back against the wall, hikes his leg up until it's almost on his shoulder, and watches Neal's hole as it tries to close around his sidearm. The safety's on but he unwraps his index finger from the stock and puts it on the trigger. He tells Neal what he's done and after that all he has to do is brace himself and hold the gun steady while Neal lifts himself up on his tiptoes and starts to fuck himself back down onto Peter's gun.

Peter can feel the weight Neal's putting on his holster, see the way his abs clench as he desperately works himself as far down the barrel as he can. He rocks his hips forward just enough so that the trigger guard strokes the rim of his hole, the delicate skin in front of it. His cock is dripping with precum. Peter watches his muscles work, listens to the sharpness of Neal's breathing, the surprise in his moans, the frustration in his whine.

"Open your eyes," he orders, and Neal does.

"Fuck me," Neal tells him, and he pulls the gun out of Neal's hole (Neal yells at the abruptness of the loss), twists Neal around, and fucks into him. He slides in smoothly on the cum he'd already put inside him, and Neal's ass has swollen just enough to provide the best kind of pressure. Neal strips the condom off the gun still in Peter's hand, lifts it up, and pushes it back into his mouth. Peter fucks his ass and mouth with the same hurried rhythm and Neal screams around him. His teeth rattle against the metal with each thrust, and if he had any control left at all Peter knows he'd be trying to rub his cock against the wall in front of them.

Peter, thankful he's come once already but nearing the edge again, fucks Neal until he stops screaming and the only part of him not limp and relaxed against him is his cock. Then he pulls the gun out of his mouth and presses the length of it against Neal's cock. His thrusts rock Neal against the metal, slick and wet with his own saliva, and when he orgasms (a silent scream on his swollen lips) Peter thrusts inside his painfully tight hole and comes a second time.

Peter cleans them up as carefully as he can before checking the messages on his phone. The recent texts from Elle are in all caps and contain threats to both of their manhoods. The threats are elaborate, colorful, and worryingly specific. "We better get home," he tells Neal. "Elle's about to burst a blood vessel."

"That's nice," Neal responds, not moving a muscle from where Peter had propped him against the wall. "Tell her I'll be there in about a week. When I can feel my feet again."

"Drama queen."

"You broke me."

"It was your idea!" Peter grabs Neal's hands and pulls him up.

Neal staggers against him but regains his balance quickly enough, hands on Peter's shoulders, forehead leaning against Peter's shoulder. "I'm trying really hard not to ask you to promise me that you'll never do anything that dangerous ever again."

"It's my job, Neal."

"I know. And usually the reason you're in danger is because of me. I just - promise me that you'll be careful as you can. Please."

Peter kisses him as gently as he can, licking the last taste of metal from Neal's mouth. "I promise."

Neal kisses him back, slowly, then pulls back. He kisses Peter's nose, his forehead, his eyebrows, his eyelids. He kisses Peter as though that's the only reason he's not crying.

"I know, Neal," Peter says. "I know. I know. It's okay." He puts his gun back in the holster, and the smile that his actions bring to Neal's lips matches his own. "Let's go home."


End file.
